On The Northbound Train
by PemberleyFan
Summary: This was just a short little one-shot imagining the conversation between Thornton and Margaret after she went home with him on the northbound train, but it turned into a full fledged story. This is just the first three chapters. The full story can be found on Amazon under the title Common Ground, by Elaine Owen.
1. Call Me John

The northbound train moved towards Milton much too quickly for John Thornton, who, in his current state of perfect happiness, wanted to savor these few hours with Margaret Hale as much as he could.

"Soon to be Margaret Thornton," he thought, allowing his lips to caress her forehead again. Margaret's actions at Marlborough Mills on the day of the riot had been ambiguous, misunderstood as sentiment for him instead of the act of contrition and protection it had been. But now-with her affectionate caresses and kisses freely bestowed on him in a public setting-they were as good as engaged. Still, the words needed to be said. There was another topic to settle first, however.

"Your brother," John murmured into Margaret's ear as her head reclined on his shoulder, his arm close about her. "Tell me about your brother."

"You know about Frederick?" Margaret's eyes, so near to his, looked up with surprise. He could easily lose himself in those blue depths, now filled with a warmth that was only for him.

"Higgins mentioned him. That was him with you at the Outwood station that night, was it not?" At her answering nod, he looked away in shame. "Forgive me, Margaret, for ever doubting you. You tried to tell me all was not as it appeared. You tried to tell me not to judge.""

"I could not tell you about Frederick, then. He was caught up in a mutiny at sea and although his actions may have been right before God they will never be right in the eyes of the law."

"But your father-he never even mentioned having a son!"

"It was too painful, I think," Margaret said, her eyes misting at the memory. "He missed Frederick so that even to think of him, let alone speak of him, was inexpressibly painful. We only spoke of him rarely."

"And Frederick came to see your mother?"

"Yes, as she lay dying. It was her last wish."

Thornton pressed the hand that was enveloped within his own, feeling it tremble a little at her painful memory. "I wish you had been able to tell me about him when I asked you for an explanation of your conduct."

"I could not do so. You were-and are-a magistrate. You had your duty."

"But surely you know I could never betray your trust! Besides my feelings for you, your father was my friend."

"It was not a question of trusting you, but of making you choose between your friendship and your sworn responsibilities. I would not bring that on your head."

"You might have said something later," Thornton said, still feeling the sting of her lack of faith in him.

"You had made your feelings for me plain, and I honored you for them. I would have been disappointed if you had felt otherwise. But that is all in the past now, I hope. You said you were only looking to the future," Margaret reminded him of his own words.

"Will that future be with you, Margaret?" Thornton asked as he gazed down at her, his voice betraying the anxiety he could not yet banish.

"It will, if you want it to," Margaret answered. It was her turn to look away in shame. "Please forgive me, Mr. Thornton, for ever misunderstanding the kind of man you are, for judging you when I knew no better, for failing to see-" She was stopped in her litany by the luminous look on Thornton's face, his mouth in a tenuous half smile.

"Call me John," he said softly.

She took a breath and began again. "Forgive me-John-for the uncaring way I answered you when you offered yourself to me-" He stopped her again.

"Just say John," he said again, as quietly as before. "That is all I need to hear from you. Say my name, and all is well."

"Dearest John!" she answered, caressing his face with her hand, and his smile widened and grew more certain as he leaned down to kiss her again.

"Marry me, Margaret," said Thornton, when they next paused for speech. "I want us to marry as soon as possible."

"Yes, John," she answered, and the train traveled on completely unnoticed by the two inhabitants of one particular car.


	2. Welcome Home

The train was only minutes from Milton before Margaret began to give more serious consideration to the practical difficulties that lay before her.

"I changed plans so quickly when I came with you that I have given no thought at all to my lodgings. Where shall I stay in Milton? The house I shared with my parents is no longer available, of course."

"Nothing could be simpler," Thornton answered at once. "You shall stay in our home until we are married."

"My dear, I do not think that will serve at all," Margaret objected. "I had much better take a room in a hotel."

"Where I cannot protect you? I will not allow it. You must stay with mother and me. If it is propriety that worries you, my mother's maid shall stay in your room."

"Thank you, John. You are most considerate. But it is not merely propriety that occupies me. I should like to be separate from you for at least a few days before the wedding so that . . . so that . . ." her voice trailed off.

"So that why?" Thornton asked, perplexed.

"So that we may come together again on that day." She blushed furiously as she said this, and Thornton marveled again at the beauty that would be his to adore whenever he wished once they were married.

"And then we will never separate again," he said quietly, allowing his thumb to caress the palm of one hand that rested in his so delicately. "When will that be? Do you wish to be married from Helstone? Or will Milton serve?"

"Helstone is part of my past. I wish only to look forward, away from the sadness of these past two years. If I were to have my choice, then I choose to be married in Milton." As she spoke, Margaret remembered the wish she had expressed to Henry Lennox so long before, of walking to the church on her wedding day down a wooded lane, with green trees on every side. That dream seemed faded now, like a favorite dress that has lost its color and been pushed aside. The reality of the man before her, strong, steady, and kind, brilliantly outshone her previous wish and made it fade away into nothingness.

"And when can our marriage take place? I assure you that I will try to be patient, to accommodate your needs, but it is not a trait that comes easily to me. Tell me that we will come together soon; or is it important to you to have a large wedding?"

"Perhaps," said Margaret, "we should speak to your mother first. She may not be willing to go along with a wedding in a short time. She might need time to get used to the idea of me marrying you at all."

"My mother," said Thornton, allowing his eyes to lock adoringly with hers, "is going to love you."

These days Hannah Thornton was thinking frequently of Margaret Hale in the strongest possible terms, and those thoughts were not always loving. There were times, in fact, when she thought she might hate the girl.

A mother's love is a proud and jealous thing, and the only thing that a proud mother might resent more than a girl who steals her only son's affection is a girl who steals it without giving him her affection in return. If a mother must lose her son's heart to another woman, she at least wants the woman to be worthy of its possession. Margaret Hale had been weighed in the balance, and found wanting.

It was Margaret's southern upbringing, Hannah thought, which had poisoned everything from the start. A northern girl, accustomed to following the fortunes and pitfalls of commerce, would have known who John Thornton was. She would have appreciated his character and understood the hard choices he had to make every day. She would have admired his fortitude and sharp business sense, and been only too flattered to be the recipient of his heartfelt adoration, even if her heart was not touched. If she must decline, then she would do so gently.

But these southern girls! Oh! The airs they gave themselves, the proud condescending looks, the presumption to tell a man like her son how he ought to run his business! How interfering, how very knowing they were on subjects where they knew nothing at all.

To be fair, Hannah reminded herself, Margaret was the first southern girl she had ever come to know well. Perhaps they were not all like that. But it hardly mattered. Margaret Hale was, and she had broken John's heart, and Hannah would never be able to forgive her for it.

At least, that was how she had felt until she came upon Margaret unexpectedly in the empty workroom of Marlborough Mills, after John had closed his business forever. She, Hannah, had pulled her own pride about her like a suit of armor and aimed several barbs straight at the younger woman, expecting to have them thrown back at her. Instead, Margaret had responded with an unexpected kindness and humility. Perhaps there had even been regret there. There had certainly been compassion, a tenderness visible when Margaret pressed on Hannah's arm at the mention of her son's devotion. Thinking back on it now, as she sat restlessly by the fireplace on this cloudy day, she had to admit that Margaret Hale had depths to her that she, Hannah, had never before appreciated. If Margaret harbored her own regrets, Hannah harbored even more.

It would not do! This painful brooding would not serve! She shook off the melancholy that threatened to drag her down as she stood from her chair and mentally inventoried the tasks she must continue to work on before John returned from—wherever he had gone. He had left only a week before, and since she had received no word from him, Hannah assumed he would be back any day now. She was on the lookout for a small, comfortable home which she and John could rent once they quit Marlborough Mills entirely. Once the house was picked out, furniture would have to be sorted through as well, with some pieces being moved along with their personal items and others being sold outright. Fanny's room, replete with ornate bric a brac and useless ornaments, would have to be emptied completely. Clothing would need to be sorted through as well, with special attention given to certain simpler items not worn much when John Thornton had been a master. They would probably also have to give up a servant or two. Yes, there were many changes ahead, and it was time that Hannah Thornton faced them head on.

When the blast of the train sounded later that afternoon, the sound breaking through even her preoccupied perusal of the household linens, Hannah barely paid attention. Trains may come and trains may go, but the work of managing a home stayed ever the same. Many trains had traveled through the station since John had left and she had not the patience to wonder if he was on every one of them. Her first notice of John's return would most likely be a delivery man bearing his bags, and so she listened half-heartedly for a porter's quick step and a rap on their door while she picked through bedsheets. When half an hour had gone by she thought no more of it.

At half past four Hannah stood up to stretch after the tedium of folding innumerable table runners, napkins, and other linens. It was almost time for tea; the maid would summon her soon. She looked out into the yard that opened on to the mill, fascinated, as always, to watch the stream of humanity that flowed past her home at shift change every day. The great looms of Marlborough Mills were silent, but the employees of other factories, both men and women, hurried by in their heavy boots and rough clothes, their work-calloused hands clutching tins and bags closely as they went on their way. Here a young girl kept a quick pace with her father; there a mother and child walked together to their shift, sharing a bite of apple each as they went. Each was as oblivious to each other as they were to her, not even glancing up as they went by, intent on their destinations. There were so many, all in nondescript tones of blue and gray, that they formed an unbroken wave that swirled through the courtyard like small currents and eddies in a larger stream.

In the distance, at the end of the yard, a small opening appeared, an almost unnoticeable gap in the unrelenting blue and gray. A slash of black appeared, coming through the archway slowly but determinedly, in a straight line towards the house where Hannah now stood at the window, looking out. John's clothes were black and so was his hair, which made him easy to pick out even when cut off from Hannah's sight for moments at a time by the people passing in front of him.

Beside him walked a smaller, slender figure in a green-striped calico and a rich brown merino hat that contrasted strongly with the severity of the harsher colors around her. This much, Hannah could see only through the briefest of glimpses as a small crowd of workers began to move in front of the advancing figures more and more. But it was enough for her to recognize the dainty but sturdy form, the upright bearing, the graceful, sweeping glance that took in everything in her surroundings. Hannah tightened her lips as she watched.

The procession—for such it had become—had come to a virtual stop about thirty feet from the front of the house. A small crowd of mill workers had surrounded John and Margaret, a crowd that grew as each person pointed out the couple's arrival to the person next to them. Nicholas Higgins was standing near Margaret, carrying two carpet bags and speaking warmly to her and John. He had accompanied them into the yard, but Hannah had not noticed him before. Now he stood as a kind of gatekeeper, allowing only one person at a time to approach closely. Rough men with weather-beaten faces were pressing John's hand firmly. Mothers with children were pressing forward and greeting Margaret, who smiled on them all with the unfeigned warmth that only she seemed able to generate.

Margaret looked up briefly, once, as the crowd flowed in front her, and her eyes met Hannah's through the glass of the living room window. Her eyes flared wide with recognition; she smiled, and then her face relaxed into the marvelous serenity that Hannah had noted before. No matter how tumultuous her circumstances, Margaret had always seemed to carry an air of simple peace about her.

Hannah began to notice other things as well. When Margaret glanced away from Hannah's sharp gaze, her eyes dropped briefly, then swept up to look adoringly at the man next to her-at John. There was a shy, proud affection in that look which Hannah had never seen before, and in the answering look that John gave her. John reached one hand up to cover and press on Margaret's hand, which lay on John's arm in a familiar way, and he leaned down to speak intimately in Margaret's ear. Margaret's smile never wavered as she nodded in agreement with whatever John had said and looked back at him again with that same affectionate expression. They resumed their advance towards the house.

These gestures were not the interactions of business acquaintances or casual friends. They spoke of ease, freedom, and a closeness between the two that was as fresh as it was dear. John and Margaret had left Milton separately, but they had returned as one.

Hannah turned her keen observation from Margaret to John, who had kept his hand on top of Margaret's as they walked together towards the steps of the house. His head, always held high, was higher now than ever, and it seemed to Hannah that several deep lines of worry that she grown accustomed to seeing lately on his forehead had disappeared. When had that happened, she wondered. When had his steps become so lively, so full of quick grace? When had the dimmed, anxious look in his eyes been replaced with this joyous tenderness? He was still John, still her beloved son, but she felt as though she were seeing him for the first time when he had the obvious affection of the woman he loved finally returned to him.

Hannah felt her resentment towards Margaret fading and disappearing as quickly as water evaporating on a hot stone.

She moved towards the front door and opened it just as John and Margaret climbed the steps, Higgins directly behind them. The rest of the scene faded away as Hannah took in the two young people looking at her—John, with a new, manly air of pride and responsibility, and Margaret with her affection on delicate display. A thousand words came to Hannah's mind, but she stood tongue tied for a moment, a small smile beginning to break through, until the only words that mattered finally came to her lips and sprang forth-

"Welcome home."


	3. Chapter 3

_My dear Edith,_

 _I am writing to you from Milton, where Henry has probably told you that I went yesterday. I am terribly sorry not to have returned to London_ _and you, but you see I could never go away from Milton_ _again, after I met Mr. Thornton by chance on the railway platform and discovered that he still loves me._

 _Yes, he loves me, Edith! Despite my mistaken prejudices against him and the north, regardless of my cruel words to him when he proposed the first time-he loved me then, and he loves me still. And I love him so very much. I could not come back to London, Edith, once I realized that my heart was always here. Please console Henry as best you can. I know that at one point he cherished his own notions towards me. I should not like him to be hurt._

 _Mr. Thornton and I have decided to be married in two weeks' time. I am staying at Marlborough_ _Mills until a few days before then, when I should like to have you and the captain arrive if you can. We can all take rooms in the G- Hotel together and then, I hope the captain will agree to give me away at the Milton_ _church. Please say that you will come. I want you to meet John and see for yourself the goodness of the man who has completely won me by his noble and compassionate nature._

 _Eagerly awaiting your answer, I am_

 _Your loving cousin,_

 _Margaret Hale_

"How will the two of you occupy yourselves today?" Thornton asked at breakfast the next day, his smile showing his profound delight at the inclusion of Margaret in the intimate family group.

"We will begin preparing wedding clothes," Hannah answered decisively. "You and Margaret may want only a small wedding, but it will still be as dignified as possible. I owe it to your mother, my dear," she added, speaking to Margaret, "to see that you are cared for in this matter just as you would have been if she were still here. You may rest assured that no detail will be overlooked." Margaret smiled her gratitude.

"We will also," Hannah added dryly, "call on Fanny and let her know your news, if Margaret is willing. No doubt she will believe that Margaret came all this way simply to see the glory of her Indian wallpaper, but we will inform her otherwise."

All three laughed before Margaret gained the courage to shyly ask, "And what will you do today-John?" blushing furiously as she did so.

Thornton hesitated momentarily. "I have an appointment quite early this morning, with a gentleman who may be offering me a position where I can make a respectable salary for myself."

"John!" This was from Hannah, spoken in shock. She abruptly set down the pitcher of cream she had been holding. She knew, of course, of the wealth which Margaret had inherited so unexpectedly, and of the role it had played in bringing Margaret together with her son. It had all been explained to her the night before. Margaret said nothing, but she looked at John with wide-eyed concern.

"You will not be a master again?" Hannah demanded.

Thornton took a deep breath, preparing himself for opposition. "No, mother, not at this time. I am not minded to use my wife's money for my own business interests. It will be better if I work hard for a few years, set aside my own earnings, and then begin again, on my own, just as I did before."

"I do not agree!" Margaret said strongly, startling even herself. "I meant what I said to you yesterday. I mean to invest in your business, in Marlborough Mills."

"My love, you have no need of my poor skills," Thornton answered with a tender smile. "You have more than enough to keep you comfortably for the rest of your life. You need not risk any of the principal. If you must invest, let it be with a well-established business somewhere else. It will take me some time to save enough to start my own business again, and in the meantime, my venture would be too risky."

"But I want to invest my money with you! There is no need to wait to save your own money when everything I have will soon be yours."

"Mine by law, perhaps, though it could never be so in truth. I will not take your money, your only means of support and independence, away from you."

Margaret looked away, hurt and disappointed. Hannah looked at her son. "You should listen to Margaret. You will never find a more willing investor."

"My mind is made up, mother," Thornton replied firmly, though he did observe Margaret's expression with concern. It occurred to him that perhaps he should have spoken to her about this subject in private rather than bring it up for the first time at the breakfast table. Yesterday's events, though delightfully concluded, had proceeded too quickly to permit the level of reflection which he usually brought to business matters.

Margaret sat with downcast eyes, not touching her food, while John looked down the length of the table at her, his forehead beginning to crease. Hannah looked at Margaret with concern, and then glared angrily at her son. Without warning she stood and left the room, her skirts swishing indignantly behind her. Thornton ate his remaining bites of food wolfishly, then glanced at the clock. "Margaret, I have to leave soon. Please do not let us quarrel on the first day of our engagement."

"What is there to quarrel about? Your mind is quite made up." Margaret answered with a false sincerity that her intended did not sense. Had he known her better, had his own emotions not still been so aroused, he would have recognized the concealed emotion in her tone and the masked expression on her face. As it was, he smiled in relief.

"I am glad you understand." He drank the rest of his tea in one gulp and stood, then came to her where she still sat motionless. He placed his hand lightly on her shoulder. "My love, I shall see you again later today." Margaret looked up at him and gave her bravest smile, in which Thornton saw only what he wanted to see. He swiftly leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, then left the room. Margaret heard his quick step move through the house, collecting his things and bidding his mother farewell, and then the opening and shutting of the front door announced his departure. After a minute Hannah re-entered the room and looked at her sharply.

"What is this nonsense of John's? Were you able to talk him out of it?"

"Not at all. He will not take my money."

"Surely you tried to convince him?"

"There was no time. He had to leave already."

Hannah sat heavily down again at the table. "Thornton men can be pig-headed about money."

Margaret stared at her in shock. In her upbringing, money had rarely been discussed so freely, or with such frankness.

"John is just like his father," Hannah commented, resuming her breakfast. "Oh, I do not mean _that_ ," she added, seeing Margaret's look of dismay, "I just mean that they are bound and determined to be the only means of support for their family. John handles his money much more responsibly than his father ever did; the mill's failure was not his fault, as I am sure you know. But he and his father share the same trait as most men, I suppose-they will not allow that they might ever be dependent on a woman!"

"But John would _not_ be dependent on me, if he were to take my money," Margaret protested. "It is merely an investment, just as any other investment would be. He could pay me back if that were so important to him."

"But you are not any other investor; you will be his wife, and he feels obliged to be _your_ provider, not the other way around. It will be hard enough for him to accept that you come to him as an independently wealthy woman, needing nothing from him. He will need time to become accustomed to the idea."

"It is not true that I need nothing from him," said Margaret, vehemently, "but what I do need, I scarcely know how to describe."

Hannah did not seem to hear her. "John's father, now, could have saved himself and the rest of us much trouble, if he had not been so determined to set things right on his own. He had his pride, you see. He would ask no one for either help or counsel, and no matter how badly his affairs went, he refused to admit his troubles even to me. He would be beholden to no one."

"I never imagined that John-Mr. Thornton-would refuse to accept my help," said Margaret, her voice revealing her distress. "I do not want it to be a point of contention between us."

"Talk to him," Hannah urged her, "and tell him how you feel about his refusal. In time he may come to accept your offer in the spirit in which it was made. But do not push too hard. You will have to find your own ways of convincing him to accept your assistance without injuring his pride."

 **Author's note: I regret that I will have to end this story at this point because this story has now been published on Amazon. This was not my goal. I had been assured by other authors over the last few months that Amazon allows published stories to remain here because they are free on this site, so I was going to leave it here. However, I received an email from Amazon last night saying otherwise and directing me to remove it here, as per my contract with them. This story is now for sale on Amazon under the title _Common Ground_ , by Elaine Owen. Thank you to everyone here for your reviews and support!**


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